is Strange
by mypartnerintime
Summary: Arcadia Bay seems like a very different place without Chloe- and now that the mysteries surrounding Rachel have been solved, Max has nothing left to do but struggle against her grief and anger. Written as an epilogue to Life is Strange, this fanfiction covers how various people changed as a result of Chloe's death and the revelations behind Jefferson.
1. is Strange (Friday, October 11)

**is Strange**

One whole week. That's how much of Max Caulfield's life disappeared after her final rewind. For a moment all she could hear was the gunshot ringing out in the bathroom, the sound of a body hitting the floor- Chloe's body, her blue-haired best friend, punk and geek and sweetheart all rolled into one, in a pool of blood. Nathan's panicked ramblings and Max's own quiet, shaking breaths, desperately trying to hide the sobs that built and built in her chest.

Then nothing for a while. It was hard to say how much of it was the transition between October 7 and October 11, and how much was her just shutting down. Tuning out.

Then, finally, the sound of the sea lapping against a rocky cliff. Seagulls squawking overhead. And the wind, so gentle and quiet, rustling leaves and stroking her cheek, her hair, as she stood next to the bench Chloe sat on, next to the lighthouse Chloe used to visit, next to the cliff where Chloe hugged her goodbye. The sea stretched out in sparkling blues and greens, with small boats disappearing into the distance, and an infinite, cloudless sky overhead. The whole world seemed to move at an incredibly slow and calm pace, as though silently exhaling a long, deep breath in the final hours of daylight. Arcadia Bay went on with its late afternoon routine like it hadn't been on the verge of destruction only an hour before.

Because it hadn't been. Chloe had fixed the entire timeline when she gave herself up.

Max's fists clenched and unclenched, with equal parts of hatred and grief, staring at the town.

The sun inched down toward the sea as Max made her way to the cemetery. The winding path down the hill was longer than she remembered, and quieter, too. Even her thoughts reduced themselves to a dull nothingness as she walked with very deliberate steps, focusing only on the ground in front of her. Leaves crunched underfoot, squirrels darted between trees, and none of it registered.

Then the funeral.

It was hard to stand there and watch Chloe be lowered into the ground. She could hear David's stuttering attempts to comfort Joyce as she sobbed into his shoulder, having to deal with another loss in her dwindling family. The priest said something distressingly generic. Max shut it all out, and thought about how this person- this girl that no one thought anything of- deserved so much more than a plain coffin and a tiny spot in the town cemetery. There should have been hundreds of people, so many flowers, so many _thank yous_ … but the town had no idea that Chloe Price had saved them. And it probably never would.

Time spun by so quickly. Just a little while ago Max and Chloe had been _talking_ … and now the coffin was disappearing into the ground, and people were throwing soil into the hole, and Max couldn't even remember what day it was, in what timeline.

It was all too fast.

After the funeral everyone knew to leave her alone. She found a quiet spot underneath a tree and broke down. She shook and sobbed against her arms, knees pulled up against her chest, until the sky went from red to black and the stars shone and exhaustion overcame her, and she never saw Chloe again.


	2. is Short (Saturday, October 12)

_Author's note: Please go check out Destiny-Smasher's LiS fanfic: All Wounds at_ _art/All-Wounds-1-Life-is-Strange-568284046_

 _It's a great story, and is probably the biggest reason why I started this fanfiction. A lot more thought and skill went into Destiny-Smasher's!_

* * *

 **is Short**

 _Saturday, October 12_

Max stared at the dark ceiling, the thick curtains of her hotel room drawn against any intruding morning light. The little digital clock next to her bed meekly declared _8:46_ in ugly red lines. A knock came from the door to the adjoining room, punctuating the quiet. "Maxine, honey? It's time to get up."

The door wasn't locked- in a minute her mom would open it and start invading her personal space, which was about as big as the whole room. "Okay, mom. I'll be out," she said loudly. Then she wiggled her way deeper under the covers and continued to stare at the ceiling in the quiet dark.

Time was becoming a difficult thing for her to measure. She rubbed her eyes; the clock next to her now said _8:45_ , but fives look like sixes all the time, and she was lacking sleep. And in the greater scheme of things, being mere minutes off was a little thing. But she still didn't know what happened in this new timeline between the afternoons of October 7th and 11th. She'd opened neither her bag nor her journal for fear of what she'd find there, nor had she checked the messages on her phone. But when she finally left the cemetery after the funeral, she was surprised beyond words to find her parents patiently waiting for her. Giving her space, and time.

Something that didn't seem to last the night. The door opened a tiny bit and her mother peeked through. "Come on, you're going to be late," she urged, to which Max replied with a quiet groan. Seattle wasn't really _close_ , and while she was grateful for her parents coming all the way down to see her (take care of her, really, which she needed by all accounts, and when she first saw them she stumbled into their arms for a long, teary hug) part of her really wanted to be left alone.

All of her.

"Maxine." Her dad's voice this time, coming from the other room, gruff and loud. Max finally threw off her covers, almost angrily, and her mom went away but left the door open.

She deliberately took her time in the shower- partly out of spite and partly because she had to at least _look_ like she was doing okay. Freshen up or something, get her hair in order and her eyes looking even remotely well rested. She gazed blankly at the bathroom mirror. The dark blue of her irises stared out of sunken eyes underneath her messy brown bangs.

"I like your eyes," Chloe said. "They're like so blue they're almost black."

They were eleven years old, Max leaning on the bathroom sink of Chloe's house, examining her face in the mirror. Chloe sat on the closed lid of the toilet, cross-legged, tugging at her strawberry blonde hair as she watched Max stare at her reflection.

Max made a face, the way she always did whenever they talked about her looks. Chloe laughed at her. Her squeaky pre-adolescent laugh. "Dude, you've got to loosen up. Either the make-up will look good or it won't." Max looked down at the borrowed (stolen from Joyce's handbag) foundation in her one hand, and the brush in the other. "Either way it's bye-bye freckles."

With a quiet sigh, Max slowly rubbed the brush against the make-up, then brought it up to her face, doing her best to avoid Chloe's reaction in the mirror. Quick swipes here and there, too thin at first, then thicker until her freckles began to fade, and all at once were gone.

She set the make-up down, the container clattering against the counter, and stared at what almost looked like a stranger's face. Chloe hopped off the toilet and came up from behind, standing next to her best friend.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"...I don't like it," Chloe said.

The hotel water was too hot, then too cold. It barely mattered. Max cupped her hands and let them overflow with water, which she then rubbed against her eyes, pressing hard and willing her grogginess to go away. She had to look okay, or her parents would make a huge deal about it. She ran her hands through her damp hair, straightening it out. Then she rubbed cold water against her eyelids again, and wiped her face vigorously with a towel. She didn't have any make-up. She didn't even _know_ what sort of make-up was best to hide eye bags or breakouts from stress. But all in all she thought she did a pretty good job. Passably okay.

"You look terrible," her dad said the moment she walked into their room. His mouth cracked into a lopsided grin, trying to hide his slip with a chuckle. Max's shoulders sagged at the comment. _That obvious, huh?_ Her mom glared at him. "Did you sleep?"

Max nodded slowly in response. It wasn't really a lie- she'd gotten a whole hour of sleep before the nightmares and the crying and the lying in the dark. Her parents exchanged a _look_ , and Max turned to roll her eyes, opening the door without another word. She went ahead of them, not even looking back, though she felt their eyes on her, and she drew her hoodie tight around her body in response. Max spent the entire elevator ride staring at her reflection, realizing she _did_ look like shit.

Breakfast was equally awkward as her parents talked about Seattle, while Max's food got cold and she tried to drown herself in coffee. The questions were tiring and the statements hollow.

"I should take you to the next Seahawks game."

"You know, we haven't touched your room at all."

"Don't you miss home?"

It was only when they were in the car and already moving that she actually said more than two words at a time. " _Where_ are we going?"

Her parents exchanged a look again. "To the psychiatrist, honey," her mom explained gently.

"The-? W- _what?_ "

"Did you forget? We talked about this."

Yeah, she- she forgot. Ha! She felt warmth creep up her cheeks.

"Mom, I _don't_ need to see a shrink. I'm _fine._ "

Her mother turned to frown at her, as her dad continued to stare at the road, apparently determined to avoid making another dumb comment.

"Just yesterday you were so game for it."

Game? She was _game_? "Let's just- let's just turn around okay?" Max didn't know what else to say. _Turn around and I'll listen to you babble about Seattle all day_. " _Please_?"

"You just have to _try_. It'll be like your IEP."

Memories of awkward middle school talks with the local psychiatrist. Evaluations. Specialized programs. Ten year old Chloe poking fun at her, equal parts laughing and encouraging. Helping her get through it all with a dumb grin.

Chloe.

Her mom turned around again and held her dad's hand. Max fell back against the seat of the car with a harsh exhalation of breath and a glare out the window, while they made their way through a perfectly intact town.

The psychiatrist _fucking sucked._

Max went through half an hour of the usual _getting-to-know-you_ bull with a fake ass friendly smile, followed by an hour of lying through her teeth about what _actually_ happened the previous week, all with a barely-concealed petulant tone. Yes, Max heard her _former_ best friend get shot in the bathroom- no, Max had _not_ seen her prior to that for about five years- _yes_ , she had nightmares about _the shooting_. God damn. And then came all the open ended questions where Max had to get her facts straight on the fly, and at one point she faked overwhelming anxiety just so that the psychiatrist wouldn't spot all the gaping holes in her story, and wouldn't realize that she didn't remember a _fucking thing_ about the entire week. Then she had an _actual_ anxiety attack (god, just like her IEP alright) and the psychiatrist ended up trying to calm her down for fifteen minutes.

 _Sucked_.

"Sucks _hard_ ," Chloe had said once regarding Max's busy therapy schedule, and ended up banished to her room. But that had been funny.

By the end of the session she was in a terrible mood and it was all her parents' fault. She slammed the car door when she got inside, and gave a very obvious _fine_ as her reply when they asked how it went. That put an end to all conversation and resulted in an entire afternoon of alone time in her hotel room.

She resolved to reply with _fine_ to absolutely everything her parents asked her.

"So when are you coming back to Seattle?"

That one was _not_ fine.

Max gawked at her dad over her dinner plate. Rapidly cooling hotel food again, which she stabbed at dejectedly with her fork. A side of fruit. More coffee. Black, the way Chloe liked it.

Chloe.

"For real?" She studied her parents with a furrowed brow. "I have school and everything-"

"I really doubt they'll be reopening Blackwell after just one week."

Max stared at them, open-mouthed.

"All your friends are waiting for you back home," her mom added. "They're so worried about you."

She shook her head vigorously, and set her fork down with a loud _clink_. "I- I only got the Blackwell scholarship, I can't- I can't just _leave_ -"

"It's only until you're ready to go back to school. Besides-"

"I _am_ ready-"

"Honey… no, you're not."

"Hey, _fu-_ " and she was on her feet, knocking over her glass, her face contorted in anger. Water soaked the tablecloth and poured down the side. She instinctively grabbed the glass and set it back upright, interrupting what she was about to say. That was actually pretty fortunate- who knows how her parents would've reacted. They were already staring at her, her mom wide-eyed and surprised, her dad with a very serious expression and a mouthful of food that he stopped chewing.

The _entire restaurant_ was staring at her.

Judging her

wondering what's wrong with her

asking her to pick them

asking her to let Chloe die.

Max's cheeks turned pink and then red and then she was fumbling with the door to leave. Outside she sucked in the cold night air and pulled her jacket's hood over her head. Then she brought her hands up to cover her eyes and hide her tears, and muffle the sound of her wordless frustration.

"Ghhhhh…!"

Her jaw was tense, teeth bared, toes curled against the inside of her shoes, shoulders bent and shaking not with sobs but with an incomprehensible _fury_.

She had never felt like this before.

 _You did the right thing,_ a voice just like hers whispered in her head.

 _I hate you_ , she replied. _I hate all of them. I hate you, I hate me, I hate every other Max that ever existed._

Then a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, and she knew it wasn't Chloe, because it never would be.

Her mother first, then her father, pulling them all into a big hug. Max in the middle, sobbing, sobbing, her mother whispering little words of comfort, and all Max could think about was how she wished everyone else was dead.


	3. is Short (Sunday, October 13)

_Author's note: So while looking for inspiration, I stumbled onto_ _Timeless_ _by Koethe on YouTube ( watch?v=notrG5cO_08). Check it out! Koethe has a great talent for music and is able to capture the way Life is Strange feels._

 _P.S. Happy Valentine's Day to you all! :)_

* * *

 **is Short**

 _Sunday, October 13_

Morning again. Quiet, calm, dimly lit with golden light. Her parents asked her if she wanted breakfast and she turned them down without any protest on their part. Hopefully that meant they'd learned their lesson and would be giving her some much needed space, without bringing up things like going back to Seattle.

There was a knock on her door- the main door, not the one to the adjoining room. She ignored it, but then her phone started buzzing insistently on the bedside table.

 _Dana Ward_

 _Accept – Reject_

"Mmf?" she mumbled into the phone, pressing it sleepily against her ear.

"Hey Max. Were you still asleep? We're outside. Your parents said we could take you out to lunch..."

"Lunch?"

"It _is_ past twelve."

"...Oh." A bright line of light shone through the crack in the curtains. Funny, how time flies when you can't sleep. It _felt_ like it should have been eight in the morning- just a minute ago Max had checked and the clock had said _8:11_. "I'm not really hungry."

"Well they gave us a key and a mission, so this is totally happening, Max," Dana said, but not unkindly.

Max rubbed the grit out of her eyes and tried to look at the bedside clock. Ugh. God. "...Fifteen minutes. I'll see you at the lobby."

There was a lot less effort this time to look like she was doing okay. She checked her parents' room but they were gone- she had a text from them saying they'd be out until the afternoon, but some of her friends wanted to see her for lunch.

More like her parents asked them to keep an eye on her, right? She wondered if the psychiatrist had told them anything. That would breach some sort of confidentiality thing, wouldn't it? She should be allowed her privacy.

Dana was seated at a coffee table in the hotel lobby, accompanied by Warren and Stella. Kind of an awkward crowd, really, but they all seemed genuinely happy to see her- Warren stood the moment she walked in, approaching her to give what was surely a well-rehearsed hug in his mind, calling out at the same time. "Hey Maaax!"

But Dana got there first, wrapping her arms around Max's shoulders. Go Dana. "Max! How are you?" she asked enthusiastically.

 _Since when do we do hugs?_ was what Max actually wanted to say. She settled for an "Okay" instead, as Stella and Warren looked on with smiles.

"Come on," Warren said as he gestured toward the door and they all started to follow. "My car's just out back. We never got to go ape!"

 _Yeah, Warren, I was pretty busy._

"And this is the first time you get to ride the Warren-mobile. I gotta warn you- it'll blow your socks right off."

Dana touched Max's shoulder, and when Max turned to look she gave her a teasing smile. Max tried to smile in response, but she only felt the corner of her mouth twitch. The group all boarded into Warren's beat-up second hand car and somehow Max ended up riding shotgun, next to Warren. The engine started with a sad puttering sound.

"Socks _blown_ ," Stella joked, and Dana suppressed a snort.

" _Where_ are we going?" Max added as they pulled out of the parking lot, wary after what had happened the previous day.

"There's this cool diner down by the ocean- the Two Whales?" Warren suggested

"Or we could-" Stella began.

"N-no, let's- let's go to the Two Whales." The request from Max drew no suspicions from anyone. Apparently no one knew about Joyce working there. Warren pulled onto a main road and the group was quiet as they warily watched him merge with traffic.

"So, Max? Are you doing okay?" Dana asked from the back seat. "You've been radio silent all week."

"Oh. Yeah." Max gripped her seatbelt tightly, only now realizing how unique Warren's driving skills were.

"Are you? Okay?" Stella followed-up after a short silence.

"Uhh. What do you mean?"

"Max, everyone's worried about you. What you went through was- _insane_."

Everyone, huh? It was only then, with a chill up her spine, that Max realized who should've come to visit, but didn't. "Where's Kate?" she asked, turning in her seat to glance at the two girls.

They exchanged a look. People seemed to be doing that a lot. "She went home," Dana answered. "You can probably imagine how infuriated her parents were... with Blackwell. And those two sickos."

"Hmm."

"She would've wanted to see you."

"Yeah… I bet." Especially because Max saved her life, right? In some timeline, somewhere. It was all a little muddled up. But in any universe, she was glad to know that Kate was doing okay. Or... better, anyway.

"...Max?" Stella leaned forward in her seat, hand on Max's chair. "She _told_ you about it. Last week. I was there."

"Sure," Max replied, not thinking. "I mean, _yes_."

Kate's favourite Bible verse was Matthew 11:28. Somehow Max still remembered that, knowledge from another timeline, or universe, or something. But it stuck in her brain and helped her save one life. Just the one.

 _Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest_.

Chloe was so quiet, face down on her bed. It was 2007 and they'd just buried Bongo, Chloe's white and somewhat spotty cat, in the Price's backyard. The little white gravestone was only slightly smaller than Bongo was. Max sat with her head in her hands, tired from crying, staring at the floor. And Chloe was so, so quiet, which she never ever was.

Minutes passed. Max looked up at one of their drawings, taped to the wall, entitled _She's a Killer, starring Kitty Cat_.

"Do you think he's gone?"

She was slightly startled, and looked quickly at her best friend. Chloe looked back at her with reddish eyes.

"...What do you mean, Chloe?"

"I dunno..." Chloe fiddled with the bed sheet, looked away. "Do you think we'll see him again?"

"Bongo...?"

The other girl sat up with a huff and an amused expression, but the smile was rather bland. Her gaze turned toward the window. "What, you don't think kitty's out conquering the universe right now?"

Max smiled back with suspicious eyes. "In the cat afterlife?"

"Sure." Chloe looked Max dead in the eye. "Why not? Then he's not just _gone_. And we'll see him again."

Max stared back, eyes wide, smile fading. Seconds passed.

Chloe's eyes narrowed, tears building up in the corners. Her mouth pulled down into a frown, lower lip quivering. " _Why not?_ "

"We're here!" Warren declared loudly, opening his door. Stella mumbled as he got out- "and still alive!" to which Dana chuckled. Warren tried to rush around the car and open Max's door, but she'd already gotten out by the time he reached it.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, and his only reply was a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

The four of them filed into the diner, Max trailing behind as she paused to look across the road, where the beach was empty and the waves were calm. She traced in her mind the path that she'd ridden in Chloe's truck, pulling out of the parking lot and driving off toward Blackwell.

The diner door opened with a creak and immediately the smell of pancakes, waffles, and greasy burgers filled Max's nose. Spoons and forks clinked against plates and the sound of sizzling food came from the kitchen. An onrush of memories filled her: visiting as a kid, with Chloe, Joyce watching them patiently from behind the counter. Bacon omelettes. Chocolate milkshakes, which apparently only Chloe and Max ever ordered. The jukebox whined out some weird country song. Chloe hated that.

Chloe.

The group found a table, but Max followed slowly, craning her neck to try and see into the kitchen, wondering where Joyce was.

 _Duh._ At home. Mourning. Immediately Max lost all interest in the little diner, and it seemed to her like an overcrowded, noisy place that should've burned to the ground when it had the chance.

She should be at home too, wherever that was- it definitely wasn't Seattle or Blackwell.

"Max?" Warren asked, all three of them staring at her. She turned and took her seat without another word. A waitress came up and took their order- Max didn't think it would matter, so she jabbed her finger at a random item on the menu and ended up ordering a cheeseburger.

And a chocolate milkshake.

Dana smiled at Max and began talking. "Did you kn-"

"What happened to Jefferson?"

Dana's face fell. She looked at the other two for support, Stella returning a worried look and Warren with his mouth pressed into a thin line. "You... you don't know?"

Max ran a hand over her forehead, brushing aside hair and sweat. "I'm asking you aren't I?"

"Max, I can't even _imagine_ how you must feel, but if-"

Enough of this ridiculous teen shit.

She laid her hands flat on the table, knocking over a salt shaker. Her friends fell silent as it clanged loudly. " _Dana._ I don't need _sympathy_ , I don't need _lunch_ , I need to know what the _fuck_ happened to Jefferson!" She stared straight at Dana, who averted her eyes. Stella did the same as Max turned to her. She didn't even bother looking at Warren. There was silence for a good fifteen seconds as she looked back and forth between the two girls. Other diners continued to finish their meals, chatting without having noticed the confrontation taking place. " _Please._ "

Dana let out a long sigh and finally spoke. "He's in jail, Max. There's going to be some sort of trial, but they haven't said when. Everyone knows he's screwed because Nathan's confessed everything anyway."

"David Madsen said the asshole's going to rot in jail for life," Stella added helpfully.

Max fell back against her seat, exhaling slowly. She closed her eyes and thought about Jefferson getting locked up, thought about how shitty she hoped prison was, how ruined he was as a photographer. It felt like a dumb consolation prize but a prize nonetheless. She had to force herself not to smile.

"Nathan's going to have a trial, too," Dana went on. "The Prescotts are trying to stop it, of course, but he told the police _everything_ before they could get him a lawyer."

Stella pitched in again. "They're pushing for an insanity plea, but he's too... not insane for that. He has a spotless Blackwell record, even."

Max chuckled with the irony of that. Looks like that squeaky-clean record turned around and bit him in the ass. Everyone looked at her with worried expressions but she didn't care, and smirked with satisfaction.

"Max..." Warren started, carefully. When she didn't jump in, and just continued to lean back and stare at the ceiling, a content look on her face, he went on. "They'll get what they deserve."

Max turned to him. Saw his concern and empathy. "They will," Max replied with a smile and a certainty born from anger. "Because Chloe can't anymore."

The rest of the lunch felt better.


	4. is Short (Monday, October 14)

_Author's note: One image that always gets to me is this Valentine's visit from Max to Chloe... Sad! (_ _post/139290066901/hey-chloe-happy-valentines-daymore-i) Check out Qtori's tumblr for some awesome drawings/paintings (in watercolor!)_ _  
_

* * *

 **is Short**

 _Monday¸ October 14_

Her phone buzzed early in the morning. She'd been watching the window behind the curtain grow brighter, from the faint glow of dawn to gentle early light. Instinctively Max reached over and pulled her phone close to her face, squinting at the text message.

 _From Joyce:  
_ Hi Max, do you still want to come over today and look over Chloe's room? I know she would want you to keep some of this.

 _From Max:  
_ Yes! What time did we agree on again?

 _From Joyce:  
_ Any time is fine.

 _From Max:  
_ I'll be there...

Surely her parents wouldn't say no to this. Max wrenched off her bed sheets and shivered against the cold, but willed herself to walk over to the adjoining door. After a brief hesitation, she knocked and opened it, peeking into her parents' room.

Still in bed, her mom propped herself up on her elbows, squinting at Max in the mild light. She ran a hand through her messy hair. "Max...? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, mom, sorry I woke you. Just... here, check this out." Max practically skipped over and sat on the edge of the bed, eliciting a quick grunt from her groggy dad. She opened up her thread with Joyce and showed it to her mom. "Can I go? Please?"

Her mom stared at the screen for a good few seconds. Even if she said no, Max would go. No one could stop her.

"Of course, honey. In the afternoon."

"Why not now?" Max asked, relieved to have at least received permission, but surprised at the delay.

Her mom ran her hands through her hair again and gave Max a confused look. "You have another appointment this morning, right?"

...With the psychiatrist? Max wasn't sure. She couldn't remember anything about an appointment. It must have shown on her expression because her mom continued to stare and finally spoke.

"We talked about it last night."

With a jolt Max realized she didn't remember _anything_ about the previous night. Not a damn thing. But it was probably okay- her parents would be freaking out if she'd done anything wrong, and she could deal with some memory loss. She doubted anything big happened the previous night. " _Right_ ," Max nodded, desperately trying to keep the surprise off her face. Anything to get to Chloe's house. If she had to sit through another shrink session and lie through the morning, that was okay. She could manage that.

"You're so forgetful recently," Max's mom complained softly as she settled back on her pillow, leaving Max to tiptoe back into her room and shut the door quietly behind her. Now she had to kill time- so much time. The little sad clock read _7:07_ and her parents would probably take a whole hour to wake up again.

Very slowly Max made her way to the closet. Inside was her messenger bag, which she'd been bringing around by force of habit, but hadn't opened since... well, she couldn't exactly say the exact day, but she hadn't opened it the entire time she'd been in this particular timeline. With nervous hands she flipped up the cover and reached inside, pulling out the first thing she felt.

Her camera. The Spectra, sleek and gray. The object held her attention for what seemed like minutes as she slowly worked through the chain of events that would have given her _this_ camera, instead of her yellow Polaroid 600. She must have taken it from Chloe's room, or Joyce had given it to her, because in this timeline... she definitely didn't get it from Chloe.

The next few items didn't surprise her: her worn and battered journal, which she couldn't bring herself to read; a small set of watercolours; her kiddy pencil case. In one of the inside pockets of the bag, she found pictures. She sat on the carpeted floor, her back against the closet, as she looked through them one by one. A few pictures of Chloe and Max as kids, one of a younger Chloe (blonde) chasing after pigeons as they frantically flapped their wings, another of Chloe high up on a rusty swing, and the picture from Max's tenth birthday (the two of them in swimsuits, Max wearing the dorkiest party hat ever). A few of their childhood drawings were crammed in the pocket as well- but Max opened the bag again and double checked, triple checked.

There were so many missing pictures.

Frustration built in her chest. She upended the whole bag, pulled every item out, turned her journal upside down and shook it, checked every page briefly. But there was no sign of some of the other pictures, especially the ones of blue-haired Chloe, the Chloe that Max really, _really_ -

"Max?" She heard her mom open the adjoining door. Max ducked her head into the closet as though rummaging through clothes. She quickly grabbed a random shirt and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Breakfast in twenty minutes?"

"Sure. I'm just picking out clothes." Her voice was level. Thank god for that. Her mom closed the door again.

Max breathed into the shirt she was holding. Trying to relax. _Obviously_ Joyce kept the rest of the pictures. The other Max- the one that ran on autopilot whenever Max used pictures to time travel- she didn't know to get the pictures of Chloe with blue hair.

She could probably ask for one or two pictures at least. _Something_. Anything to remember Chloe during her last few days…

The second session with the psychiatrist was better. Max had come in with a proposition: talk about her childhood with Chloe. Reminisce on all the lovely things that happened as kids, talk about what an important part of growing up Chloe was. That way the memories were real. The feelings were real.

By the time the session was done she wasn't angry. But she could hardly keep herself still has she took a bus to Chloe's house, and had to stop herself from running down the street to the door. The neighbourhood was quiet. The wind blew through trees and rustled their leaves gently, some red and orange ones falling to the ground. She tried to force herself to appreciate the moment, her favourite season, with the warm colours and gentle coolness. Objectively she knew Arcadia Bay was a beautiful place- but she couldn't bring herself to look around her with anything other than irritation and mild disgust.

She buzzed the doorbell perhaps a little too insistently.

"Max, honey," Joyce said as she opened the door, and Max immediately collapsed into a hug.

Her voice was thick. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Joyce."

"Now now," Joyce gently replied, patting Max's back. "I miss her too," she said, her voice breaking.

"I miss him _so_ much," Chloe sobbed, head buried in Joyce's black dress, tears staining the fabric.

They'd just gotten home from William's funeral. Max's parents had let her go home with Joyce and Chloe, all the better to comfort her best friend. But instead Max just stood dumbly to one side as mother and daughter hugged, each caught up in their own crying, but clinging to each other in grief.

The three of them stood just inside the Price house doorway. The whole place was still and quiet, as though the house itself was sad that it would never get its paint job finished. William was gone, and just like that everything there seemed so much _less_.

Max looked up from her feet and caught Chloe looking at her. The blonde girl's head was pressed against her mother, but turned to one side, staring Max. Her mouth pulled down into a frown, lower lip quivering. Her narrowed eyes, red and tearful, seemed to ask a very hard question.

 _Why not_?

"Come on then," Joyce said quietly, wiping her eyes as she nudged Max into the house and up the stairs. Max felt like she was in a daze- her feet moved from one step to another on autopilot, her eyes refused to focus. But she knew that just up there was Chloe's room, just beyond that door.

She opened it slowly.

It was all the same.

Dull afternoon sunlight pouring through the window, framed with Christmas tree lights. Walls covered in posters and graffiti. A box of Missing Persons posters on the desk. Clutter, everywhere. An unmade bed that Chloe once slept in. An ashtray full of cigarette butts that Chloe once held to her mouth. The clothes Chloe used to put on each morning.

Chloe.

But Chloe wasn't there.

Max stood in the doorway, at a loss for words as she took in the messy allure of it all.

Joyce's hands came to a rest on her shoulders. "I know. Chloe went a little crazy with it, after you left for Seattle. I haven't touched a thing. 'Cept for some of those photos and drawings you wanted."

Max nodded dumbly. The older woman gently guided her into the room, toward the bed. Max sat on it. It almost felt wrong to disturb the sheets- but at the same time it felt like Chloe would've wanted her to be sitting right there, in the middle of the room.

Joyce was looking around, too, and suddenly seemed to be avoiding Max's gaze. She wiped at her eyes discreetly but Max saw it. "Well… I'll leave you to it. You take whatever you think you should, Max, just… leave everything else where it is."

She paused with her hand on the doorknob, facing the door. Slow seconds passed, and Max only stared at the older woman's back.

She dreaded whatever words might tumble from Joyce's mouth in her moment of vulnerability. _Why did you never call her,_ she would say. _Why didn't you take care of my daughter? You were supposed to be her best friend, and you left her for five years._

 _Not a word. Not one. And when you came back, you never even looked for her._

 _What right did you have to discard her so easily? To do nothing as she died in that bathroom?_

 _Or to think anything special about this room you've never even seen before?_

Eventually Joyce sighed heavily and shuffled through the door with her head bowed.

Max destroyed Joyce's life.

The girl lay down on the bed, pulled the covers around her, and waited hopelessly for sleep to come.

 _From Chloe:  
_ Max

It was a text from Chloe. Max was in Seattle coffee shop, just a few weeks after leaving Arcadia bay, working on a group project with some new classmates. She ignored the buzzing phone.

 _From Chloe:  
_ My moms crying again.  
What should i do

 _From Chloe:  
_ i dunno what to do

 _From Chloe:  
_ i told her she still has me and wed help each other out like a mother-daughter tag-team. so its not so sad.  
I think she liked that.

 _From Chloe:  
_...

 _From Chloe:  
_ You never reply.


	5. is Short (Tuesday, October 15)

**is Short**

 _Tuesday¸ October 15_

Max woke up without ever having realized she was falling asleep. The light that was pouring through Chloe's window was the hazy golden hue of sunrise, not the stark whiteness of an afternoon. She propped herself up on her elbows, shielding her eyes, as her mind slowly worked itself into wakefulness.

A graffiti drawing of Chloe's head with the words " _Everybody lies, no exceptions,_ " greeted her from across the room. _Good morning_ , Max thought back at it wryly.

With sudden clarity, Max realized she was wearing Chloe's skull tank-top, leather jacket, and bullet necklace. She sat bolt upright at the end of the bed, her foot nudging a shoebox full of photos and trinkets that hadn't been there the previous day.

 _Another nightmare? Or dream…_

She ran a hand over her forehead. Put her palms to her cheeks and wiped groggily at her eyes. A satisfying yawn escaped her as she stretched, content.

It all felt very real. The sunlight was warm- the air still cool- the sheets soft. The smell of cigarette smoke, which by now had dug stubbornly into the walls of the room, was sharp. But she couldn't remember at all when she changed clothes or collected the items at her feet. The last thing she could even remember was entering Chloe's room, and lying down as Joyce left.

She picked up the shoebox and inspected its contents one by one. Great photos of Chloe, with blue hair even. Together with Rachel. Or alone, taking selfies.

 _That's my girl,_ Max thought, smiling.

She stood and set the box down on the bed carefully. Her stomach rumbled. She was _hungry_. She actually had an appetite. It was turning out to be a good morning.

 _You're welcome_ , said that voice in her head again, which she ignored.

As she made her way out of the room and down the stairs, she took off Chloe's necklace and wrapped it around her wrist, the bullets dangling freely and brushing against her fingers every now and then.

It was only upon entering the dining room that she realized she wasn't alone. Joyce was looking at her from the kitchen, while her parents were staring from the dining table.

Max's eyes widened and her cheeks burned as she realized she was still wearing Chloe's clothes.

Now would be a good time for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

"Well…" Joyce broke the silence with a bittersweet smile, "I know it's surprising, but those clothes actually suit you." The older woman gestured Max toward the table. As soon as she was seated, her mother pulled her into a sideways hug from the seat next to her. Max surprised herself by sinking into it.

"Joyce called us about you wanting to spend the night," her mother said. "We figured it'd be good for you. But maybe _you_ should tell us next time." Max only nodded in response.

"Oh, it was lovely having her here," Joyce pitched in, setting plates in front of each of them. Bacon and eggs. "We had a funny time exchanging Chloe stories. Didn't we Max?"

Max smiled. "Y-yeah."

Her dad butted in. "Joyce, you really didn't have to cook for us, with everything-"

"Don't be ridiculous. Heaven knows this will do me some good. Now, dig in."

They all set to eating. Her parents and Joyce made small talk, but Max was focused on getting food into her stomach as quickly as possible. After days of hardly having any appetite, Joyce's cooking tasted like heaven. Her mom rubbed her back, obviously happy to see her daughter chowing down with so much gusto. It made Max feel like a kid again.

"David?" Joyce was saying in response to a question. "Oh he's… you know. I'm actually not sure where he is today."

The school had fired David as head of security. Max found that out by scanning news articles on her phone sometime during the last few days. It wouldn't be surprising if Joyce and David were on rocky terms (understatement of the year) after what had happened in the school bathroom.

Max wasn't sure how to feel about that, especially after all the crap she put David through (or didn't put him through- it was a different reality, after all), and after the man had done such a poor but heartfelt job of comforting Joyce during the funeral. Max decided to not think about it.

The rest of the breakfast was more subdued, with Max's parents carefully toeing around the topic of Chloe, and the fact that Joyce was home by herself. They offered to visit often, and Joyce seemed to like the idea, ruffling Max's hair in approval. It would really be a win-win all around. Max was… glad, even.

As far as she was concerned, breakfast was over too soon, but she followed her dad to the car without any complaint. Her mom lingered near the house to speak more with Joyce.

Max's dad turned to her as she closed the car door. "Maxine… I have some news."

Little alarms started wailing in Max's head, but she looked up at him without a word- though she felt that her eyebrows had shot up.

"Now, listen," he went on. "Your mom and I… We've been doing our best to take care of you. You know that, right? It's not much, but…" He shook his head, looking away briefly with a pained expression. "Can you imagine what it was like for us, when we heard about what happened at Blackwell?"

But he immediately seemed to regret those words. Max started to say something but he cut her off. "Obviously it's not anything compared to- Well. The point is, we're not sure what we're doing. It's hard to keep you company and give you space at the same time, but we had a _long_ talk about it," he said as he looked at Max's mom through the car window. "And if we're being really upfront, I just don't think we're helping all that much here."

" _Dad-_ "

"No, let me finish. You're a great daughter, you know. We love you. Really."

By this point Max was gnawing at her lower lip, her eyes watery, dreading where this conversation was going. _Please don't let this ruin the morning_ , she pleaded inwardly, _please don't let them take me to Seattle_.

"I love you guys too…"

"And we do want you to be happy. We want a lot of things, like to bring you back home, but you being happy is the main thing. And Seattle- after the other night, well… The point is…" He sighed heavily. "The point is that Blackwell is opening again on Thursday, on probation, and we think you'd be happier going back to class."

If Max had been holding something, she would've dropped it. As it is she fell back against the car seat with her mouth open, unable to control her expression.

Her dad's mouth pulled into a lopsided smile, showing through his thick beard. "Figure we got that right, huh? Okay, okay… don't get all excited. This is just a trial run, and long term we might decide to put you somewhere else. But you're eighteen now, and we know how much you'd hate to stop studying photography, and Blackwell's one of the-"

" _Thank you_ ," Max butted in, unable to control herself. "I swear, you won't regret this. I just- I just don't wanna be away from Arcadia right now, and-"

"Maxine," her dad said, gently. "We get it. Don't worry." He glanced out the window again as Max's mom started walking toward the car. "Uh, that said, your mom's not that hot on the idea, so maybe be careful what you say," he hurriedly added, finishing just as Max's mom pulled open the car door and settled into her seat.

Max's parents exchanged a look of understanding, and her mom turned to look at her with a sigh, while her dad pulled onto the road.

Max tried to meet her worried look with a smile. Then she reached forward in her seat to wrap her arms around her mother's shoulders from behind.

" _Thanks_ mom… Seriously. I…" Max said, trailing off, unable to find the right words.

Her mom gripped her hands and turned to look out the car's front window.

"Just… be careful Maxine. Just be careful."

* * *

By the looks of her hotel room closet, she and her family had moved out a ton of her stuff from the Blackwell dorm. There were at least two roller bags stuffed with her assorted books and other junk. Some of the larger, more expensive items, like her hi-fi and her guitar, had been left behind- she assumed for pick-up later on. Overall it appeared that the original plan had really been to leave Blackwell for good.

The daring of her parents to let her go back wasn't lost on Max. It must've taken a lot of trust and optimism- and one hell of a long conversation- to reach that conclusion. But they did, and not for the first time Max marveled at how supportive her parents were.

Fortunately, since she had hardly even unpacked, there wasn't much repacking to do. After a rather subdued dinner (Max's good mood faded throughout the day, and she settled into an insistent quiet later on) she finally sat at her room's desk and laid her journal out in front of her.

She'd take it one step at a time. Maybe read one entry per day, or… or maybe today she could just… take a quick look around. Part of her still believed that knowing what happened during that one week, what _actually_ happened in _this_ timeline, wasn't all that important.

She opened the journal from the wrong end, flipping through empty pages until she reached the latest entry, dated October 14.

…

Wait.

October 14 was Monday. Yesterday.

The day she went to Chloe's room after visiting the psychiatrist. When she fell asleep on Chloe's bed.

She never wrote on her journal that day.

She felt a prickling sensation climb up her arms and neck, goosebumps forming on her skin. Her gaze fell to a random paragraph:

 _That brought back so many memories. I never knew Chloe liked the lighthouse that much. Joyce was so proud._

She snapped the journal shut, staring, agape. Who could write that? The handwriting was unmistakably her own. But she'd never even opened her journal since the funeral- she'd never written-

She'd fallen asleep that day. She'd woken up in Chloe's clothes.

 _You're welcome_ , a voice had said. Max's voice. _You did the right thing,_ it said, on a different day.

Joyce served them breakfast and said they'd had a funny time exchanging stories about Chloe.

And Max had agreed.

"W-what-"

Max bit her lip, stood and backed away from the desk, clutched her head, fingers digging through her hair. Panic and fear worked their way up her legs and spine, a light, unpleasant feeling.

 _Calm down,_ the voice whispered.  
 _Quiet.  
_ _Shh._


	6. is Short (Wednesday, October 16)

_Author's note: Yikes! This is a long chapter. By far the longest. Unfortunately I didn't get to edit it as much as I'd like, as I've run out of pre-written chapters, and I'm trying to stick with my one-chapter-a-day schedule. I wouldn't call this rushed, though. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Wednesday¸ October 16_

Blackwell Academy.

There were two notable things during the drive from the hotel to the school. First, Max's mom hardly talked _at all_. After eighteen years of daughterhood, Max knew the amount of self-control it took to do that, when there were doubtless many things her mother wanted to say. Or maybe it was just parental anxiety over the wellbeing of her child.

Second, Max's dad talked _a lot_. He was normally a confident guy, silent in his self-assurance. Now he babbled- he talked about how good it was she was getting to study again, how they'd be nearby if anything happened, how Blackwell had stepped up security like five times. At some point Max tuned it out and her father ended up literally talking to himself.

Blackwell's brick-red walls broke through the trees and into view as they made the final turn, and the car pulled quietly into the parking lot. Max wasn't sure what she expected to feel, whether apprehension or a hopeful sort of excitement, or even that anger bubbling to the surface again.

But she didn't feel anything. Whatever high she'd been on since visiting Chloe's house had faded to a dull memory. A dull _ache_. Waking up in Chloe's clothes, in her room… now that all just seemed like one good day crammed between what would undoubtedly be many, many bad ones.

Between that and the whole journal mystery…

Chloe's necklace was still wrapped around her wrist, the bullets literally within hand's reach at any given time, and she gripped them now with a tight longing.

Nobody got out of the car for a whole minute, until her dad finally sighed and pulled himself out, moving to the trunk to unload Max's bags. Max and her mom followed suit, the cold October air blowing against Max's skin.

"Maxine… promise me you'll call us _all_ the time," her mom said in hushed tones. There was a sudden urgency in her voice, all the pent-up worries pouring out. "If you ever feel bad or like you need to talk to someone, if someone ever says anything mean to you about… you know. And if you need _anything_ at all. Okay?"

Max nodded repeatedly, until her mom pulled her into a tight hug.

"I know you can do this… but just in case. Be safe."

The three of them made their way across the school grounds toward the dormitories. A few students loitered about, all obviously dormers, getting ready for classes to resume the next day. Max wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: her classmates seeing her with her parents, or her parents seeing her classmates do double-takes as they caught sight of Max. Either way she wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there for years.

"Dad, I can carry those the rest of the way-"

"Nah, it's fine. Besides, I want to get a good look at your dorm."

The Prescott dormitories- though the little plaque that proclaimed it as such was vandalized beyond recognition. The good side of the "Blackwell spirit" (as Principal Wells liked to call it) finally seemed to be making a move, distancing itself from Nathan and his family.

Too little, too late. The red streak of sprayed-on paint across the Prescott name felt exactly like all those "We miss you, Kate" cards and messages. Hollow, sincere only in the aftermath of a traumatic event. Guilt-ridden.

The inside of the dormitory was warmer. Max dreaded seeing a bunch of dorm-mates loitering the hall, but instead saw something worse: a pair of adults hovering near her room's door.

Her parents made a beeline for both of them, and Max timidly followed suit behind.

"Ryan and Vanessa?" the older of the two adults, a tall gray-haired man, said. He was well-dressed. Old school but stylish. His voice followed suit- smooth, but a little too formal. He and Max's parents shook hands as he introduced himself. "I'm Principal Jeremy Thies. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. As I said on the phone, I'll be overseeing the school while the investigation is ongoing."

Max peered at him from behind her parents, wondering how temporary Thies' stay would be. He caught sight of her and their eyes locked. "And you must be Max." Her dad reached around to edge her forward gently. "Welcome back. And thank you for deciding to come back at all."

"Uh… no problem."

"I want you to know that we've taken every precaution to make sure you- and everyone else- is safe here. I'm personally terribly sorry about everything that happened. I know that seems like a small thing. But Blackwell should be a place of learning, not… tragedy."

It was around then that Max realized it was kind of a big deal for the new principal to be meeting her personally. He must have waited outside her room just to talk to her and her parents.

She also realized, with a disappointed sinking in her gut, that he was essentially a taller Principal Wells. The voice and look were different, but the words were coming out of the same tired old script.

Her parents were saying something in response as Max's attention drifted. Her gaze settled on the door across from her room, which was slightly ajar.

A pair of eyes were peeking out from underneath short, blonde hair.

Victoria Chase.

Max's expression involuntarily pulled into an angry scowl as Victoria finally noticed that Max was looking right at her. Here was Nathan's best friend and confidant, one of the big Blackwell bullies. So caught up in her own insecurities that she'd bring down everyone else if she could, just to make sure she stayed at the top of the tiny pile.

The person who basically goaded Kate onto the roof. Who was inwardly glad that Rachel was gone. Who could have helped Nathan, or reported him, or stopped him, but didn't. And because of that someone _died_ \- not just anyone, not just _anyone_ died, it was _Chloe_ , it was Max's best friend, and here Victoria was with her usual bland, judgmental expression, looking at Max like- like it was some goddamn normal school day, like Max was exactly the same person she was a week ago, like she wasn't slowly dying of loneliness and regret deep down-

Whatever compassion she'd had for Victoria, whatever moments or bonds they'd shared, were all forgotten. Max took a determined step forward, the old anger rising, making her clench her fists, grit her teeth, see red-

"Max?" said Thies.

The sound startled her. She turned a little too quickly to face him again, an almost frantic movement.

Victoria's door quietly clicked shut.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?"

It took all of Max's willpower to keep her voice level, though the tone was defiant. " _Nothing_."

The four adults stared at her.

She felt herself shrink slightly, the hot anger draining. "Sorry, I'm- I'm fine."

"…Alright, Max." Thies shared a concerned look with her parents- people exchanging looks again. It was starting to bug her. "Well, Max, I wanted to introduce you to our new photography professor, Melinda Green. She'll be taking over for the remainder of the year."

In contrast to Thies, Green wasn't much taller than average- and that was while wearing heels. She was dressed with the casual air of someone who spends money on expensive, branded clothes. She reached out and Max instinctively took her small hand in a shake.

"It's good to meet you," said Green, and she sounded like she meant it. But Max was wary of trusting so easily.

"…You too."

Thies pitched in. "We're lucky that such a well-known photographer was willing to teach on such short notice," he bragged, with a self-satisfied smile. "We're fortunate that the Chase family is so well connected."

Max's ears burned. Green had been brought in by Victoria's family. She remembered vaguely that the Chases owned an art gallery.

Thies smoothly took aside Max's parents for a casual (and obviously private) talk, no doubt about keeping an eye on Max and ensuring her well-being. For once Max had no desire to be nosy and eavesdrop. But that left her alone with Green.

There was an awkward pause.

"Don't worry. I'm not crazy," Green said with a small smile. Max shot her an offended look before she could stop herself. "Sorry," the older woman went on, and Max could have sworn that her cheeks looked a little pink. "Bad joke."

Another awkward pause.

"Oh. Before I forget. Given the circumstances, the Zeitgeist has left a slot open for us in the Everyday Heroes exhibit, so we can still submit our entry by the weekend. I already have the pictures from everyone in your class… except you."

Max sighed. "I don't think I'll be submitting anything." She paused. "I mean, I definitely _won't_ be."

Green frowned with obvious disappointment, but nodded. "I understand. There's really no pressure."

"So, Victoria's parents asked you to…?"

"Oh, no. Victoria herself did. I've known her since she was this tall." Green held her hand up near Max's thigh. "She practically begged me to come teach, but don't tell her I said that. I think she mostly just wants the whole Everday Heroes contest to push through." She chuckled. "She's really talented and has her eyes on the prize. Though obviously I won't play favorites."

"She deserves to win," Max said, unsure why the words tumbled from her mouth, but fully aware of how bitter her voice sounded. Green only glanced at her in response, clearly unwilling to reply.

Max felt the familiar grip of her mother's hand on her shoulder. "Ms. Green," her mom said. "I hope you don't mind if I get Max settled in now."

Green nodded and joined Thies and Max's dad, who seemed to be in a deep discussion. Max sighed inwardly with relief as she and her mom entered Max's room.

It was basically the same, but with less junk. Cleaner. Generic. Almost all the personal effects, like the photos on the wall and the photography books, were missing, crammed into Max's bags to be unpacked later.

"So," her mom started, shutting the door behind them. "Does it feel good to be back in school?"

Max hated all of it so far.

"It's okay."

* * *

"Are you gonna help me Max?!" Chloe pleaded, on her knees in the scrapyard, digging with bare hands.

Max knelt down across from her pushed her fingers into the dirt, scraping it aside, getting it in her fingernails, staining her palms… "Chloe, stop! Look!"

There was something there. Something in the soil.

Something…

She continued to dig as Chloe looked on, horrified. "Please, no…"

An odor hit Max, a rotting, decaying smell. She recoiled in disgust. "Ugh!" She felt bile rise up her throat, and barely fought it down; it left a sour taste. Part of her already knew what Chloe was going to see, but she didn't dare think about it. Didn't dare think at all. Couldn't. "That smell…"

And moment later there was something worse. Chloe's voice.

"Rachel…?"

High and desperate.

"Oh, Rachel, no, no!"

Wild with fear.

"Please, not her!"

Max held her hands over her mouth in shock, as Chloe threw up a few feet away. She felt her eyes burning with tears, goose bumps prickling across her skin, her chest tightening and the whole world falling apart.

She stumbled over to her best friend and laid shaking hands on her back. "Chloe…"

Chloe wailed, a hysterical and uncontrollable sound. "Rachel…! Why?!" She pulled her knees against her chest and shook with frantic, manic sobs that ripped through her chest, pleading with no one, wailing at no one, crying for the girl that was dead.

And Max hugged her uselessly, in grief and horror, muttering words that changed nothing. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm so sorry…"

"I loved her so much…" Chloe sobbed.

"How can she be dead?!

"What kind of world does this?!

"Who does this?!

An alarm rang.

Max struggled awake in her dorm room, a wetness clinging to her cheeks. A sob left her throat as she reached groggily for the phone and checked the time.

She'd fallen asleep.

She had a text message.

 _From Chloe:  
_ I have something to show you meet me in front of campus  
get dat ass in gear NOW

Max wiped the tears off her face, and pulled in a deep breath, struggling against another sob that was building.

Not real.

 _It's not real._

An alarm clock rang.

Max struggled awake in her dorm room, a wetness clinging to her cheeks.

She checked her phone. It was almost midnight. She'd fallen asleep. She sat up in bed, still fully clothed, and wiped the tears from her face, before finally standing and pulling her messenger bag onto her shoulders. She nudged her room's door open and peeked down the hallway.

Nothing. All clear.

Being as quiet as possible she made her way down the hall and out the dorm. There was a security guard nearby- Principal Thies really did step up security. Unfortunately for him, the guard was busy staring off into the distance, and Max easily made her way past him, even without her rewind powers. Instead of going out through the main campus exit, she climbed a nearby wall and ended up in the woods- that helped her avoid any more guards, and it only took her a few minutes of wandering to get onto a road.

She pulled her jacket tight around herself and made her way through the empty streets of Arcadia Bay, guided by the dim light of streetlamps. The night was chilly and quiet, and lonely- more than once she jumped at a shadow or a sound, scaring herself.

She walked for half an hour before it started to drizzle. She pulled up her jacket's hood and shivered against the cold.

This was why she wanted to come back to Blackwell. This was the biggest reason.

It was in walking distance of Arcadia Bay cemetery.

She could go on any night she wanted. She could go alone. And she didn't have to tell her parents.

The cemetery gate was closed so late in the night, but she climbed it (not easily, though, and she slipped several times before she finally found her footing). In a daze, cold and scared, she wound her way through the cemetery paths toward a very specific tombstone.

There was someone already there, a silhouette kneeling in the dark.

"…H-hello?" Max called out nervously, keeping her distance.

The figure stood and turned to look at her.

It was David Madsen. He'd been laying a flower.

Max gasped and stared. Because of the oddities of time travel, this David would hardly even know her. She'd be an old friend of Chloe's, nothing more. No one worth talking to. He had already turned and walked away before she could think of something to say- she watched his retreating figure in the dark, until he climbed a nearby wall and was gone.

She wondered at the brief encounter, as she slowly made her way to the grave.

The world seemed to go very still, and very quiet.

Max stood silently, and stared.

 _In loving memory of  
Chloe Price  
March 11, 1994 – October 7, 2013_

She reached into her bag and pulled out the gray Spectra with shaking hands. The drizzle made the ground slightly muddy, but she sat next to the tombstone anyway, leaning against its cold stone surface. She tried to ignore the rain pattering against her camera as she brought it up, the lens staring down at her.

The lens staring. About to snap a picture. In the dark.

Her hands shook more. Vivid memories of the dark room threatened to climb their way out of whatever pit she'd dumped them in, but she fought against it. She hadn't taken a single picture since her final rewind, much less a single selfie- but she could do this, she could do it for Chloe.

She fought to put a smile on her face, even as she started to cry.

The shutter clicked. The camera flashed.

An instant photo slid out.

Max took it with brisk motions and watched warily as it developed:

 _Max sitting cross-legged on the grass, next to the tombstone, a small forced smile on her face. Her hair and skin gleam with wetness in the rain, as does the tombstone. The darkness of the cemetery surrounds her, though fireflies dot the night sky and the stars shine overhead. The tombstone takes up too much of the picture, Max squeezed into one side, but that's okay._

She set the photo down next to the flower David had left behind.

"Photo-hog," she whispered to Chloe, and began to cry.

"…I'm so sorry, Chloe.

"Everything went-… went _wrong_.

"And now you're gone… And I don't know what to do with myself."

She let her shoulder fall against the tombstone, an arm wrapping around it, like holding onto a good friend.

"I've been trying to get b-better. I swear. But I don't…

"Want to feel like I've _forgotten_ you.

"If I get better it'll…

"It'll be like I…

"I left you all _over again_. Like _Seattle_."

She was crying heavily now, and she wiped her eyes vigorously with a sleeve.

"And the w-worst part is…

"The _worst_ is that I d-don't even know if y-you can, can hear me because I-

"Because-

"Because y-you know I don't believe in- in heaven.

"You- you knew that. I n-never told you but you _knew_ -

"S-so maybe I'm not- not talking to _anyone_ …

"And I'll never-

" _see_ you again."

She let her head rest on the tombstone, sobbing and sobbing. Her words came out muffled as she forced them out past the shaking lump in her throat.

"And even if- if there _is_ a h-heaven,

"After everything I did… I d-don't think I'd m-make it there.

"I'm s-

"I'm s-so _sorry ,_ C-

"Chloe…

"I'm so f-fucking _sorry._ "

She shut her eyes tight against the darkness of the cemetery. She shut everything out.

"I c-can't do this,

"I can't do this… with- without you.

"There's this huge _hump_ I just- I just can't get over, and

"and I know

"if I _could_ , I'd get better- It'd be so _easy_ ,

"b-but I can't do it without you

"until you, you tell me y-you forgive me

"and I can g-go.

"B-but you c-can't because

" _because_

"because th-there's no one there."

The rain grew harder, soaking her clothes, but she ignored it all.

 _What kind of world does this?_ Chloe called out in the dark one night, sobbing. _Who does this?_

"I miss you s- _so fucking much_.

"I l-love you _so f-fucking much-"_


	7. is Short (Friday, October 18)

_Author's note: So, yes, I completely failed my one-chapter-a-day thing. Lesson learned - make sure you have a loooot of time to write things. Real life just totally filled up . So, sorry for the delay in posting. I did go over this a few times for editing, so I wouldn't call this rough by any means._

 _And, just as a heads-up, this is the last chapter. After this is just the epilogue, which is shorter but still an important part of the story (and don't worry, I've already written the epilogue, so that will go up tomorrow!)._

* * *

 _Friday, October 18_

She woke up badly, her head throbbing as light pushed sharply against her eyes. Her whole body was painfully slow to move. A soreness creeped up her legs and arms, making each motion difficult, though she couldn't imagine why.

It took her several seconds to get an arm under herself and push up from the ground. She raised her other hand to brush dirt from her cheek, all the while blinking furiously against the too-bright sun. Something wet brushed her fingers- blood, trailing in a line from her nose.

Just as things were starting to come into focus, her head banged against something, making her eyes water.

"Ow- dammit-"

She gingerly moved in another direction and finally got herself together enough to sit up properly.

She wasn't in the graveyard anymore. The ground around her was drier and less grassy, little rocks pocking the area where she was sitting. Above her loomed a tall shape, like another person, but it was unmoving. She focused on it, imagining her eyes like the lens of a camera, adjusting and adjusting until it came into focus-

The Tobanga. The carved animal faces decorating the mysterious totem pole of Blackwell stared out into the distance, like an old and unfeeling sentinel. Max rubbed the back of her head, soothing the spot which had knocked against the wooden figure.

"What the fuck…" she muttered, as she glanced around. She caught sight of the Blackwell dormitory. Her head was aching from both the inside and the outside, so she didn't give her current situation much thought, chalking it up as another night lost to the voice in her head.

After a few moments she struggled to her feet. Her balance was precarious and she stumbled a little, catching herself before falling.

" _Max_?"

She straightened to catch sight of Taylor, Victoria's _right-hand-girl_ (for lack of a better term), approaching.

" _Oh my god._ Were you sleeping with the Tobanga?"

"Wh-what-?" Max stuttered.

"-…Hey, your nose…"

That felt like a strange comment, and it was only when Max rubbed her nose that she remembered the streak of blood was still there.

"I'm-… I'm fine," she finally eked out, wiping away the blood. "It happens sometimes." She felt like that was a good move- if her parents or any of the teachers found out about any of this, they would totally freak.

Taylor looked far less than convinced, raising an eyebrow and studying Max's condition. Max herself looked down to see her clothes, not the ones she wore to the graveyard, stained with dirt, bits of grass clinging onto the fabric. She doubted her hair or any other part of her looked any better.

"Really."

" _Yes,_ really," Max shot back.

"…Well you always were a _weirdo_ , Max. Come on, we're late for class." Taylor actually grabbed Max's wrist to pull her along, though she let go a moment later. "Wouldn't want to miss Green's first big lecture, right?"

Max's head was still throbbing, so all she could think to do was follow meekly behind Taylor and rub at her temples. She did offer up one complaint, though.

"Green's first class is on _Friday_."

Taylor glanced back at her with a _look_ \- but a gentler look now, touched with concern. "Uh, it _is_ Friday?"

Max only stared back dumbly.

Friday. She'd gone to the cemetery Wednesday night. _Wednesday_ night.

"Are… are you sure?" she asked, while the prickling sensation of fear worked its way up her back and neck.

Taylor glanced back again with a weirded out, _what-the-fuck_ sort of look. "... _Definitely_ sure it's Friday, Max."

Max let the moment pass without responding, and Taylor continued on in an uneasy walk.

Assuming this wasn't the start of some insanely complicated prank- and Max was pretty sure that was way more of a hassle than it was worth to Victoria and her goons- Max lost a whole day. The whole of Thursday.

She clutched her head again, stumbling along behind Taylor as she struggled to come to terms with this. She could hardly even _see_.

 **What the hell did you do to me?** she asked the voice in her head.

It actually answered, in a frantic, desperate tone. _You were- you were freaking out at the cemetery. You were hysterical!_

 **You don't have the right,** Max thought back viciously. **You have** ** _no_** **right to any of this.**

 _I didn't want us-_ _ **you**_ _to get sick, Max. You have to believe me. I was taking care of you!_

 **Bull!**

 _Please just listen, I-_

 **Fuck you! You're… am I-  
** _I'm so sorry, Max- I didn't-  
_ **Am I going insane-?  
** _I swear to god, I never wanted it to get this bad-  
_ **What the hell are you-?  
** _But you were soaked and you weren't-  
_ **What are you doing to me-?  
** _Weren't thinking_ _ **at all**_ _-_

By now Max was groaning softly to herself with the effort it took to maintain the conversation.

 **Shut up! Just shut up!  
** _I'm so,_ _ **so**_ _sorry…  
_ **Just…  
Just tell me why you keep… ****_hijacking_** **my body…  
Tell me who you are…  
And what you want…**

Max had theories. First and foremost in her mind was that all the time travel had finally dealt a truly damaging blow to her mental health, and she was now suffering from delusions or split personalities. It was probably the least of what she deserved, given how recklessly she had used her power. Former power.

Or, secondly, it could be that the voice was the evil Max she had once met, in the nightmare diner, the one that had accused her of destroying everything in exchange for Chloe. The Max from an alternate reality, which up until now was haunting her with guilt and remorse.

And the third idea, the one that Max barely ever thought about, for fear of clinging onto false hope, was that it was Chloe. Despite having Max's handwriting, having Max's voice, her mannerisms… that maybe it really _was_ Chloe, trying to take care of her still… reaching from beyond the grave, from an afterlife Max wanted so badly to believe in, from wherever spirits stayed…

Chloe.

 _I'm…_

 _I'm not her, Max…_

Max shut her eyes, stumbling along behind Taylor.

"Max?" the other girl called out, grabbing Max's shoulders to steady her.

 _This was…_ _ **my**_ _body, too. For a whole week I guess, this was mine.  
I didn't know anything about rewinds, or about what happened to you.  
But then you were __**here**_ _. You took control, and all your memories just… flooded in._

Someone was pulling Max by the shoulders, struggling to carry her weight. A high, sharp voice from a few feet away called out. " _Finally!_ Where the hell have you been?"

"Ugh, there's something… _up_ with her. She's acting all weird…" Taylor said from very near Max's ear.

 _And all your pain and anger…_

 _I couldn't bear it for a while._

It was the other Max. Not the angry one from her nightmare, but the one who ran on autopilot whenever Max jumped through a picture.

But _autopilot_ was starting to feel like the wrong word.

"Jesus… what's wrong with her?" came Victoria's voice. Though her vision was blurred, Max could vaguely make out Victoria's figure, hands on her hips and a disapproving frown on her face, as Taylor brought them closer.

"Vi-…" Max mumbled.

 _But I could see how bad things were for you. And I had to help you. I had to._

 _I've been trying to._

She'd signed Max up for appointments with the psychiatrist. Made faltering attempts to calm her down in moments of panic. Cheered her up in Chloe's house.

"Ugh. We don't have time for this shit," Victoria hissed. Taylor slowly let go of Max and the two girls tried to get her to stand up properly. "Get yourself together, you… weird _hipster_. Hello?"

"Y-yeah, Victoria, I'm-… let… _let_ _go of me_ ," Max almost snarled at them, and the two girls recoiled as though burned. Max stumbled but managed to brace herself against a nearby wall.

The wall of their photography classroom. They were right outside. The hallway was empty except for the three of them- class would be starting soon.

Victoria waved dismissively at Max. " _Fine_. If you think you can manage it, get your butt in there. Now. Otherwise we're gonna have to carry you to the infirmary." She gave Max a quick once-over with judgmental eyes. "Which I am _not_ going to do."

 _Go inside. You can do it. If… if you don't, the teachers and your parents will know something's wrong._

Max spent a few seconds straightening, trying to find the strength in her sore legs. She didn't bother looking at Victoria or Taylor as she brushed past them and entered the classroom.

Everyone stared at her.

Green was sitting at her desk, a pair of reading glasses on, looking at Max from above the lenses. Several classmates- Alyssa, Stella- were conversing in hushed tones as Max made her way to her seat. Kate's place was still empty. Max doubted she'd see Kate in Blackwell again.

She sat heavily on her seat as Taylor and Victoria came in, looking annoyed. They sat down, and Victoria glared at her.

Max made a feeble attempt to clean the dirt and grass off herself.

 _See? It's fine. We're… we're fine._

 **No.**

 **No, we're not.**

 **You need to… go. We can't keep doing this. We can't** ** _share_** **.**

The bell rang. Green stood and took off her glasses, clapping her hands together. She started talking, but Max's attention was elsewhere.

 _…I know. I can_ _ **feel**_ _it. I can't keep this up much longer. I don't think I'll even have a choice, soon._

 _I'm sorry, Max. Everything I've done… I've just been trying to help you._

 **I- I know.**

 _But I'm so fucking scared. What's going to happen to me? Where am I going to go?_

 **I…**

 _Was I always just… temporary?_

"But enough with the lame introductions," Green was saying. "Let's all get to the main event."

 **Maybe I'm the temporary one…**

 _I don't believe that. I don't know what to believe anymore._

 **That makes two of us.**

"Which," Green went on, "I am a hundred percent sure you all know the results of, anyway."

 _Listen to her, Max._

 **Why?**

"At least after all but one of you withdrew your entries." Green sighed.

 **Hello?**

"I have to say it was surprising, but not actually disappointing. I understand the sentiment." Green smiled at the class. "But I did get a good look at everyone's pictures, and they're _mostly_ great stuff, so… I don't actually mind that you painted me into this corner. The one remaining picture is, in fact, one of the best submissions."

 **Max?**

Amidst the backdrop of her swirling emotions, Max felt the rising loneliness and guilt of being alone in her mind. Of betraying another version of herself to some unknown fate.

"So without further ado, I'd like to announce the winner of the Everyday Heroes contest- Max Caulfield!"

She looked up.

Green was smiling down at her. Several other people were smiling, too. Victoria looked on with a defiant expression, a tilt to her jaw that spoke of… _pride_ , rather than disappointment.

Max realized that her mouth was hanging open. Green was looking at her like she expected Max to say something. "B-but I-" Max stuttered, and stopped.

 **Did you do this?**

 **Did you submit a picture? Yesterday?**

Everyone else had withdrawn their entries. Who would have convinced them to do that?

Victoria started to clap in a polite sort of way. And everyone else followed along.

"Max," Green said. "I know it must feel like a _cheat_ , but your picture really was one of the top contenders to win, anyway. I don't regret this at all. I don't think anyone does."

"Uh…"

"This is a big achievement, you know." She gestured Max forward, then stooped to pick up a large square frame propped against the wall, about two feet by two feet in size. She turned it around for the whole class to see the picture, obviously an instant photo which had been blown up to a larger size:

 _The sky above is overcast, dark gray clouds stretching on and on into the distance. To one side is the Arcadia Bay lighthouse, only its base visible, with the rest of the tower stretching out beyond the edge of the frame. The ground underneath is wet and muddy, and small puddles have formed under what appears to be a moderate rain._

 _The shoulders and heads of two girls- about twelve years old, on the edge of adolescence- fill up the center of the picture, in sharper focus than the rest of the scene. They're seated on a wooden bench, its surface shiny with rainwater._

 _One girl, with black hair and small features, is huddled within an old, faded raincoat. She looks at the camera with a timid and subdued expression. Her eyes are red and puffy- though the rain mixes with her tears, it's obvious she's been crying. Her arm is held up and leads out of the frame; the angle suggests she's the one holding the camera._

 _Her head rests against the shoulder of a taller girl with strawberry blonde hair. This second girl has no protection from the downpour- her shirt is soaked, and her wet hair clings to her face in messy strands. She's sporting an ugly black eye, which mars her pale skin. And yet, her back is straight, shoulders and chin held high, and her mouth is spread in a lopsided grin. One arm is wrapped protectively around her friend, pulling her close and shielding her from the storm. The other arm pokes into the picture to give a cheerful thumbs up._

 _Her eyes twinkle with a childlike glee._

Max stared. She stared for what felt like whole minutes.

"Why don't you come up here and say something about it?"

She obediently rose to her feet, trying her damnedest to make sense of everything, though she felt that her mind was coming out of a heavy haze.

The other Max had taken over for a whole day, and submitted _that_ picture. She must have found it at the Price house. Joyce must have helped her.

And when the class found out- when _Victoria_ found out- they'd all decided to let Max win. Out of… kindness, maybe. Out of something. Something nice.

The whole room was quiet, now. Max stood there dumbly, staring at the picture. Her mind slowly pulled out the memory captured in that one moment, and the sights and sounds of it, the _feel_ of it, came back to her. Green gestured her forward again, offering the picture for Max to take.

She'd won the contest. She was going to San Francisco- to the Zeitgeist. She was starting a career.

Chloe always said she was a great photographer…

With slow, faltering steps she made her way to the front and took the picture from Green. The teacher backed away as Max turned and faced the class, holding the frame in shaking hands.

She took a deep breath. And another.

The words and thoughts came so slowly.

She started with a faltering voice.

"…I took this when we were twelve." But she stopped and stared at the class.

 _Say what you want to say. Don't talk about shutter speed and composition. Say what you_ _ **feel**_ _,_ the voice said, shaking with emotion and strain. _Forget about what they think. Say what you feel._

Max cleared her throat and started again. "I didn't… know what 'Everyday Hero' meant. I've had to think about it a lot, recently…

"I used to guess that being a hero meant doing something… _out of the ordinary_. Like doctors or soldiers, or… or even great parents.

"I thought it only ever meant _taking care of people_ , and going _beyond_ … Doing _more_.

"But… but _Chloe_ wasn't like that. After her dad died, and I moved away, and her best friend… _disappeared_ … she was angry, and selfish, and… lonely. She just did so much less than her best.

"Life beat her down again and again, into a… a bitter person."

Max gulped. She felt her eyes watering, and struggled to not cry in front of everyone. They were all staring at her with a quiet sort of intensity.

"But she was- _is_ my hero.

"Because despite everything, I could see… flashes of who she used to be. Moments when the little girl would shine through. When she wasn't what life made her into, but… she was…"

 _Hella good._

Max smiled. "Hella good. Enough to push back against all the bad things that had happened to her and… and want to be better.

"And to tell herself, _My friends deserve better. My family deserves better._

"Just a little bit at a time… she was working her way out of all the… _tragedy_ of her life. And it was so hard for her.

"She had to struggle. She had to give herself up, and be selfless… And remember how much she cared about other people."

Max tried to find the right words. This was important- she wanted to get it just right. For Chloe's sake.

"She wasn't different from any of us. She was just… an everyday person. And life was so… hard on her.

"But when it really mattered… she tried to be better than who she was. Better than what life made her.

"And I… I hope that… I can live up to that, someday."

 _You already are._

The voice was so soft now. So distant.

 _I'm leaving. I can't stay.  
Neither of us know where I'm going… and I'm so scared. I'm so scared.  
But if I do end up somewhere… I swear to God I'll find Chloe.  
I'll find her.  
So she won't be alone again. She'll have her best friend.  
Her partner._

Max wiped her eyes.

 **Tell her I miss her, so much.**

 **Be pirates with her again. Take over the world.**

 **Give her all our love.**


	8. Goes On

_Author's note: Well, this is it, the end of my first real fanfic! I hope you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and I hope this ending does your expectations justice. For anyone who's been following the story, thanks so much for keeping up with it. I seriously thought about people who followed the story when I had to stay up late to finish writing. :)_

 _And of course, let's all take a moment to appreciate Life is Strange. It has its flaws, but damn is it an awesome game._

 _...I'm gonna miss writing this. :( Fortunately I'm obsessed enough with Life is Strange that I have other things going on, but... This story has a special place, for me._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Goes** **On**

Chloe was walking quickly, determined to outpace Max on the slope leading up to the lighthouse. Max struggled to keep up, panting heavily, clutching the straps of her backpack with sweaty palms. Chloe was always the faster and stronger one. By the time Max could see where the path ended at the base of the lighthouse, Chloe was already sitting on the bench.

"Chloe?" Max called out, her childish voice raspy and strained.

The other girl ignored her, pulling her blonde hair to one side in a brisk, angry motion, revealing plainly the ugly bruise over her left eye.

Max dumped her backpack on the ground next to Chloe's and sat heavily on the bench. She panted as Chloe crossed her arms.

"I'm… I'm _sorry_ , okay?"

Her best friend rounded on her. "You _ratted_ on me. To a _teacher_. You're supposed to be on my side."

Max withered under Chloe's glare. "I was… I got scared. You were _hitting_ him."

"He ran over Bongo!"

"His- _dad_ did, Chloe, and… it was an accident."

The logic behind that seemed to be completely lost on Chloe. If anything she looked angrier. "You're supposed to be my _partner_ , Max! Best friends stick up for each other!"

Max could already feel her eyes watering. She tried to hide it from the other girl. "Chloe, I- I just…" She trailed off, turning away to rub at her eyes.

A few seconds of silence passed. A strong wind had picked up, blowing in from the sea. Max looked down at the waves, stretching on and on to the horizon, trying to calm herself down. Everything looked washed out under the overcast sky.

"Max, are you _crying_?"

"N-no…"

"Oh man, you always…" Chloe sighed. "You always _cry_ , Max…"

That just made Max cry even more. She sniffed heavily and wiped her nose as a sob escaped her. "I don't… I don't mean to…"

Another few moments of silence passed, punctuated by quiet sobs. Max didn't dare turn to look at Chloe's expression.

But eventually she felt Chloe's arms wrap around her shoulders in a hug.

"Okay, Max, come on… stop it."

"I'm s-sorry, Chloe, I didn't like seeing you fight…"

"I get it…" She pulled Max against her shoulder. The younger girl's tears stained her shirt. "I… probably did kinda go overboard. Got my pirate on… I just miss Bongo. A lot…"

Max tried to reciprocate the hug, holding Chloe tight. "I know, Chloe… I'm so sorry."

"Trust Max Caulfield to be the goody-two-shoes." There was a touch of fondness in her voice. "Now stop crying, okay? And stop apologizing."

"Still… still best friends?"

Chloe sighed. "Max, there's literally nothing you could ever do that would make us _not_ best friends." She rubbed Max's shoulder. "You know I can't stay mad at you."

"I'm still sorry, though..."

"And I'll forgive you every time."

It had started to drizzle, and the small droplets were gaining weight. Soon it would be raining hard.

Chloe held out a hand to feel the water as Max wiped her eyes again. "Let me guess… you forgot your raincoat. Like usual."

Max didn't bother to reply. They both already knew the answer. Chloe made a big show of sighing heavily as she reached down and unzipped her backpack, bringing out a faded raincoat.

"Here. Put it on."

Max took it hesitantly. "But what about you?"

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Max, look at how awesome I look with a black eye. Do you seriously think a little rain's gonna hurt me?"

That brought out a shaky giggle from Max as she fumbled with the coat, putting it on as the rain finally picked up and started soaking everything.

Chloe pulled her into a one-armed hug, holding her really tight.

"I'll always have your back."

Max sniffed again. "Uh… I dunno know what to say."

The other girl laughed. "Forget about talking. Take one of your awesome pictures. While I still look cool."

Max obediently reached into her bag and pulled out her camera, snapping a selfie of the two of them. It was nice to practice- she thought a lot about the right distance to hold it, the right framing and exposure…

Chloe snatched the picture from the camera and tucked it quickly into her bag, before it could get any more wet. Max didn't get a good look, but they'd definitely examine it later. Maybe put it in an album. "My dad's probably almost here," Chloe said. "I'm gonna get the biggest lecture _ever._ "

"Sorry…"

"Come on, Max, what's he gonna do? Give me a time out?" Chloe giggled. "That'd be pretty funny."

Max smiled.

" _There's_ my best friend," Chloe said over the sound of rain. "No more pouts." She patted Max's arm as Max sighed slowly, letting a gentle calmness spread through her. "Are you feeling better?"

Max reached out and held Chloe's hands in her own. She squeezed them. The two girls- the two _best friends_ \- held on in the middle of the storm, rain pouring around them, and smiled at each other fondly.

"I'm getting there."


End file.
